Page 59 of Yearn
Morning sun lit the room into soft rectangles.
Butter hissed.
Syrup warmed in a little pot.
Oliver sat at the table, tight curls wild, feet kicking the chair, trying to hold his fork like a grown-up and failing.
J sat beside him smiling and reading their comic.
There was a crystal vase brimming with bright pink roses, their perfume thick in the air like spilled silk.
What?
Oliver spotted me and raised his hands. “Surprise, Mommy! We got you again!”
“It’s the breakfast edition.” J grinned.
“I see.” I went and hugged both of them. “Thank you so much. You all are spoiling me.”
Once I gave them kisses on their cheeks, I turned to the true ringleader who had been making my life more a fairytale than a nightmare.
“Thank you, Dominic.”
“No problem. By the way, good morning.” He slid another perfect circle onto the stack and looked at me. His eyes caught mine—dark and bright at once—and for a heartbeat I thought he might smile.
But I gazed at him deeper and there it was, buried under the civility—lust and anger. He had wanted me back downstairs last night. I felt it as surely as heat off the burner.
Thank God, Dominic remained calm in front of the kids.
Meanwhile, Scott would have argued and cornered me with words until I cracked.
Dominic didn’t. He just made pancakes—perfect circles, one after the other—as if feeding me would make my day easier, as if he could build a bridge from batter and heat instead of noise.
That was his way, and it made me realize that even though Dominic was young, he was more of a man than Scott could ever be.
The guilt of not going back downstairs hit me harder than the smell of butter and sugar rising from the pan.
Shit.
I’d left him waiting, hadn’t gone back down after the story, had stayed upstairs convincing myself it was better, cleaner, safer. And now here he was, making breakfast like he’d make peace with his hands instead of his mouth.
My throat tightened. “I’m sorry about not. . .finishing our. . .conversation last night.”
He put his focus back on the pancakes. “We’ll talk about thatlater.”
I swallowed hard, went over to the stove, and busied myself with the syrup pot, pretending to stir it so no one could see my hands trembling. The wordswe’ll talk about that laterechoed in my head like a drumbeat.
Later?
Alone with him?
In the basement, with no one to hear if I moaned too loud?
A shiver went through me.
Alone in a room with Dominic, I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my clothes on, not with that big ass cock and the way he moaned for me last night.
I was more sinner than saint.
